


Your smile

by Cocobonk (vampyrosa)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Student Castiel (Supernatural), Student Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:08:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampyrosa/pseuds/Cocobonk
Summary: Dean is just trying to do his best with what he got. With john, the absentee parent out of the picture at the moment, and costs are mounting at home, so Dean has to get creative. What's a high school kid to do? Especially with limited job offers in his condition. An opportunity arises and seems easy at first. That is until Castiel, a fellow student and his paycheck, keeps making this job more difficult than it should be.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

“Dean?” Sammy peered into the room. Dean rolled over to see someone at the doorway.

“Sammy?”

Sammy came into the darkened room. It was early morning and the sun hadn’t risen yet. He gently nudged his brother. Dean rubbed his eyes to better see what Sammy was doing. Sammy was holding a glass of water and a few pills. They didn’t need to talk. Not this early in the morning. Sam’s hair was sweat matted on one side and he could barely keep his eyes open. Crap, he didn’t realize he was making so much noise that Sammy had to give Dean his pain pills.

He was grateful for the cool water to quench his parched throat though. Sammy sat on the bed close to him as Dean lifted his shirt to check on his wound. He peeled back all the duct tape and gauze to reveal four long claw marks that went from his hip on the right, up toward the lower portion of his ribs on the left. They were infected before, but now beginning to heal. It was still crusty and oozy around the fishing line stitches but the bright pink hints of scar tissue looked good. They weren’t so much pain anymore, just hella itchy. 

Without being prompted, Sammy handed him a medicinal salve that Bobby gave them. John and Bobby had a falling out when John decided Dean was old enough to hunt. Before they left for good, Bobby slipped him a baby jar (that still said, Turkey dinner) filled with medicinal ointment. It was a magical concoction, made by a white witch, and of course, John highly disapproved of such methods. He was always paranoid and suspicious of anything supernatural related, so Bobby asked them to keep it “hush-hush.” He gave them a blessed talisman to keep them safe as well. That day was a hard one, with Sammy crying and Dean wanted too, but he couldn’t, not with their dad around. Dean treasure these items as they walked out of his house for the last time.

He dipped his fingers into the greasy concoction and sent a silent thanks towards Bobby. It didn’t hurt, putting it on. The medicine felt cool and tingly, but boy did it stink. Worse than mentholatum. He tried to use it sparingly. They couldn’t afford antibiotics and Sammy was growing and was awkward as shit now. Like a newborn foal. Constantly bumping into things… or falling off things. So he needed to use the bare minimum because he felt he needed to save it for the clutz. Sammy frowned and made an attempt to put his finger in the jar but Dean held it out of reach. 

“It’s cool. I’m pretty much good to go.” Dean tried to give Sammy a reassuring smile, but the angsty 12-year-old only frowned harder. Okay, time to redirect. “I’m good enough that I think it’s time to get our asses back into school. What do you think? Getting tired of watching cartoons and Judge Judy all day?”

Sammy chewed his lip and looked back at his brother’s exposed midsection. Well, nothing was bleeding and the bruises had faded to a sickly yellow-green color. Looking at the scar tissues just made him so angry. He hopped off the bed, “Yeah, whatever.”

Dean wanted to say something but knew better. Lately, Sammy was just a ball of walking anger and misery. Hugs and little talks did nothing to alleviate his mood swings. He was too young to be this bitter. Rubbing a knuckle over his eyes and taking a deep breath, Dean looked over at the motel’s cheap alarm clock; 5:46 am. He could walk over to the food pantry and get in line. And so his day began. 

He left Sammy behind because he wanted to sleep in longer. Sam did offer to wash their clothes when he got up and get them ready for the week. He could have used the extra hands, but getting food at the pantry made Sammy feel ashamed. It didn’t bother him though. Food was food. Especially when they only had less than $80 bucks to last them a week. 

Their dad was stuck in the past. He keeps thinking a loaf of bread, a jug of milk and a few boxes of cereal only costs about $5 when in fact it was tripled that amount. His dad could eat one big meal a day and be fine, but Sammy was a growing boy. He overheard Bobby lecturing their dad about being a dumbass and that growing children need more than mac and cheese and bacon and eggs to survive. Kids needed vitamins, minerals, and vegetables. Even at 8, that left a big impression on him. So he made an effort to get a variety of foods. Although he thinks he created a monster when Sammy wanted fresh produce rather than frozen meals that Dean sometimes had to resort to. 

It was a small line, thankfully. He filled out the paperwork and got his backpack ready. It was fall, and they had a sad assortment of squash, corn, and moldy melons. The frozen meats were a better haul and he felt a little giddy when they gave him two extra bags of cereal (because donated food usually came in banged up packaging so the plastic bag was the norm here.). A slightly smashed sliced bread loaf, a tray of off-brand cookies and a paper bag filled with canned foods. Some of those didn’t have labels (again, donated food and rough handling.). A few bags of grains, like rice and beans.

At the end of the line Mormons were giving out bags full of hygiene products and a pamphlet that advertised their service times and upcoming events. He took whatever he could and thanked the volunteers there. A young mother was nice enough to give him a lift to the motel. He only had $5 on him but she was immensely grateful for the gas money. He was more than grateful that he didn’t have to haul all this stuff back on foot.

He made it back to the hotel around 9 a.m., and Sammy was up and folding the laundry in the kitchen. He hated how Dean would roll the clothes even though they were in a motel that had a usable chest of drawers. He stood up and helped his brother sort out the food. Their dad fucked up on the last hunt and he knew it. With Dean getting hurt so badly, he made it a priority to get a nicer motel that was meant for extended stays. He figured that Dean needed some extra time to heal and bought the place for two months. His guilt worked in their favor as this place had a full-size fridge, an electric stove range and even a microwave that worked. It had only one bedroom but it did have an extra cot that Sammy claimed and had set it up in the living room. 

“Hey, do you think you can finish up?” Dean asked. He covered his midsection which ached something awful. Under his hand, he could feel a bit of heat which wasn’t normal.

“You okay?” Sammy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just all that lifting and carrying made it really tender.” Dean said as he made his way to the living room. He inwardly groaned at the mess Sammy left behind. Empty water bottles, chip bags, and crumbs everywhere. With a grimace, he knocked some of the crumbs off the couch. Deeming it acceptable he plopped down on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. He’d have Sammy clean it later. He hated cockroaches and this is how you get them. 

He closed his eyes to concentrate. He was doing a mental list of things he needed to do for school. He had their birth certificates, their fake records of immunizations, their fake proof of residency, emergency contact forms … he scratched his chin. All he needed was a chump to pose as his dad and fake IDs to complete that guardianship paperwork.

“There is enough here for beef stew, Dean,” Sammy said from the kitchen. 

“Hmm,” Dean replied. 

“Hey Dean,” Sammy came over. His hazel eyes that didn’t know how to be blue or green were filled with wary hope. “Can we go to Target?” 

Dean couldn’t help himself and frown at the question. “For?”

“I need a backpack, some school supplies and a pair of shoes.” Sammy tossed him his old pair and it was obvious that Sammy had intentionally made the wear and tear worse. Dean fingered along the very fresh rip at the toe area. He raised one eyebrow at his brother. A pink flush colored his little brother’s face but he tried to pretend he wasn’t caught.

“Sam, how many times do I have to tell you we don’t-”

“But we do!” He pulls out a wad of cash. Dean glowered and marched over to the fridge and looked into the coffee can but the money was there. He counted it. It was all there. 

“Where did you get that?” Dean crossed his arms across his chest.

“I always check all the washing machines and dryers.” Sammy rolled his eyes. He came over and spread it out on the Formica table. “Look! $68 is plenty for all that!” He looked so damn happy and smug. They did smell like fabric softener. On one hand, Sammy did need new shoes now but on the other hand, going to a thrift store was a better option.

“We can go to Goodwill or Annie’s attic,” Dean said.

“What? Why?” Sammy whined, and even that was sort of squeaky. 

“You’ll get more bang for your buck, Sammy,”

“It’s my money, and I want to go to Target,” Sammy declared.

Dean scoffed. “Your money? Is that how's this going to be?” Dean challenged and Sammy faltered. Dean worked odd jobs and never once did he pulled that it’s “my money” because, in this family, everyone shared. It was John’s rule. 

“I didn’t mean it like that Dean, but please can we go? I mean, I don’t have to buy anything. It could be fun? Get out of this place for a while and just look at what’s out there. Please?” Sammy came over and looked between his brother’s left and right eye because his face was up close and personal. Puppy eyes, full power. 

Goddamnit. 

“Fine, but afterward we are going to Annies to check out their stuff.” Dean stuck out his curled pinky finger. Sammy hooked his own pinkie with Dean and smiled his agreement.

It was actually nice to see Sammy enjoying himself that day. It was getting rare to see the kid smile. He understood what their dad was doing was important, but he felt like their dad should be here more or at least find a healthy balance. Of course, Dean agreed, but a part of him was glad their old man was gone. As the years passed, it seemed their dad become more… apathetic and violent. Small mistakes, he blows up over. The apologies became fewer and his drinking increased. He knows their dad loves them. He tells them so, but it’s one thing to say, and another to show it. 

As with most things, Sam’s mood didn’t stay upbeat for long. He had gone to get the Ice cream while Sammy guarded their stuff outside. When Dean came back, he saw Sam glaring at a happy family having a normal birthday party at the Pizza palace across the street. From that point forward, Sam was gloomy and quite frankly Dean was sick of it. 

It was either Dad’s sour mood and anger, or Sammy’s increasing defiance. He was so tired of it! He never really saw himself as a negative guy. Maybe that was the thing because he couldn’t understand wanting to stay angry all the time. This dark cloud their family was under was really getting to him. Deep down, he knew he shouldn’t see it that way but it felt like a reflection of his ability to care for his family. That his family was so unhappy was somehow his fault. It stressed him out. Dad and Sam were all he had. It was scary seeing Sam drifting farther away from him. He didn’t want to be left alone. 

They ate their ice cream in silence. There was no point in talking or trying to cheer his little brother up. Walking beside him, he could practically feel the hostility pouring off the little guy. The city had buses but not on the outskirts of where they lived. This part was the industrial side. If he ignored his present company’s mood, he’d say that today was a nice day. They got some nice things and had a good lunch. He was lost in his thoughts so he didn’t notice some guys stood to block their path on the sidewalk.

“Look at these Faggots,” One of them said with a sneer.

“Bet you $10 they just got off from a date sucking on each other’s knobs!” A smaller douche bag exclaimed. 

“The pretty one looks like a whore, I bet he has money.” A taller fat kid said. “Hand over your fucking wallets, now!”

Sam and he shared a look. They nodded to a silent agreement. It would be hypocritical if he judged Sammy for having that malevolent looking grin when he, himself was eager to make someone bleed. So he didn’t think about it. They let their fists talk for them.


	2. Chapter 2

Later that evening, they trudged their way back to the motel. They were both dusty and exhausted. Sammy clutched his torn Target bag close to his chest. It started off great but on their way home, they got jumped by a group of teens looking to rob them.

The brawl was actually going in their favor until a smaller pudgy dude sucker-punched Dean in the gut. Wincing in pain, Dean crumpled to the ground. Sammy looked at him as two other boys crowded around. Dean gave him a nod and watched as Sammy went buck wild. All that pent up rage finally found an outlet.

Meanwhile, the other two dipshits began to kick him while he was down. He relied on instinct and reflex. The next kick, Dean grabbed their leg and bit down hard. The boy screamed and tried to get away from him. Dean held on for a second and rolled out of the way when the other boy tried to stomp on his skull. His hands snapped up and gripped the bully’s crotch and twisted. The boy howled in sheer pain. Now that he was distracted, Dean got up and in the right stance, arm pulled back and like a spring, he twisted by his waist and let his fist fly forward. The fucker flew back, and blood sprayed out of his nose and mouth. It was beautiful.

Now that all the bullies were on the ground, Sammy and Dean rooted through their wallets. No one had much more than a five and change but collectively they scored $34. They read those boys’ names out loud and their addresses. They did that to inspire fear and let them know if they tried anything, they knew where they lived. They walked away, but as soon as they turned a corner, they booked it. They weren’t risking riding the town shuttle to get home. Just in case those assholes narked.

Sammy and Dean both each gave the other a look when they got home.

“Pizza?” Sammy asked.

“Pizza.” Dean declared. The bullies- unbeknownst to them- paid for a large pan supreme pizza and 2-liters of mountain dew. The spoils of war.

Once their stuff was put away and pizza devoured, Dean had Sammy look over the paperwork. He would go over in the morning with some sucker with the forms for school enrollment filled out. Sammy gave him the thumbs up and headed for the shower. Dean let him because he was super dusty from the tussle. Dean checked the time. It was still early, but Dean figured he would get a head start. He cleaned up his bandages and went ahead and removed some of the torn stitches. He did a whore’s bath in the kitchen with a wet washcloth. After donning a clean shirt and jeans, he banged on the shower door to let Sammy know he was headed to work. 

Work was being a busboy at Furio. It was a classy (undisclosed gay) club that catered to the older gentlemen with its state of the art cigar room and oxygen/vape bar. They played Sinatra and big band music. The atmosphere was dark but soothing. The place had a nice plush carpet and the drinks were never watered down. Benny was the bartender and worked on a food truck when he wasn’t here. He was the one to get Dean the job and acted like a big brother to him. It was… refreshing, to say the least. 

For the most part, the men here were respectful but once in a while a dude would get up in his business and make lewd remarks about putting his “DSLs” to good use. He’d only been working here for about three weeks and the regulars usually stepped in before it gets too out of hand. 

The wait staff, on the other hand, was a different matter. They were three guys that were a little jealous of the tips he received. They didn’t think it was fair because he was just a busboy. In the back, he can usually hear them making remarks. One of their gossips caught the ear of the boss man. Balthazar pulled him aside last week because one of the waiters accused him of using the business to turn tricks after work.

That night had been terrible as he held his dirty apron in clenched fists and hot burning tears nearly spilled out. He was shocked, humiliated and hurt they would go so far. Winchesters don’t cry, though. So he remained pissed off and reined in his other emotions. So Dean had to breathe deep and take the interrogation without yelling. After Balthazar explained why he was called in, he wanted his side of the story, he said, and Dean gave it without being a whiny bitch about it. 

He didn’t want to lose this job. The pay was decent but the tips really helped with the everyday needs of two teens. With his current injury, he couldn’t do hard labor or attempt hustling pool because when drunks get mad, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself because of his injuries. He found that out the first week in the city and that’s how he met Benny that night. The bear of a man saved his hide. Since then, he considered the man a true bro. 

Back to the interrogation, Balthazar reviewed his video surveillance and found that Dean was on the up and up. However, he said he couldn’t prove it, but he doubted that Dean was actually 21 so, Dean was working on a day to day basis. If he so much as sneezed wrong, he would get booted. Balthazar made it clear he loved his bar and would do anything to protect it. So Dean stuck close to Benny and did the best he could do.

After clocking in, Dean struggled to tie his apron. His abs were killing him and by the warm trickle, he knew he might have reopened… something. Hopefully it would be something minor. Tonight was a Monday and fairly slow. He was thankful and tried not to reach across the table too much. 

Harlow sniggered, and in passing said, “Sore?” when he couldn’t bend over to pick up a napkin. Dean was really tempted to flip him off over the innuendo. As if the dude had any right to say anything! Harlow was the town slut. Dean’s only been with girls, but even then it was kissing and a little petting here and there. He knows what kind of face he has but he’s never gotten to the third base yet! Being a virgin was a sore spot for him. Which sort of ticked him off more by Harlow imply they were the same. 

It was getting closer to midnight, but already he was getting tired. He knew it would be a terrible idea to ask to go home early, so he pressed on. Benny could hear him huff and groan. By midnight, he had enough and pulled him into the back break room.

“Show me.” Benny demanded.

“There’s nothing to see. I’m fine. I just pulled a muscle is all.” Dean dodged away from Benny. 

“I used to be a medic in my last crew. Just show me.” Benny stood in the doorway to block his way. Yep, folded arms, and legs shoulder’s width apart to show he meant business.

“Hell no. I’m not stripping here!” Dean’s face flushed with embarrassment. What if Harlow walked by! Benny rolled his eyes, but relented. “After yer shift is over, I’m dropping ya off, and you are going to show me what’s up with the bandages. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the bloody mess and gauze packages you leave in the trash bin.” His slow but easy cajun accent boomed in the empty room. 

Dean scowled but accepted with a nod. 

Worked ended and Dean slowly walked over to Benny’s truck. His belly was aching something awful. Benny listened mostly to country music and blues. It was the old stuff like Conway Twitty and Hank Williams. Right now, it was Dolly singing about Jolene stealing her man or something. 

“You don’t need’ta tell me the whole story. I have an idea. I just want to help.” Benny gave him a side glance. “I’m not your enemy here, brotha.”

“Even if I told ya, you wouldn’t believe me.” Dean muttered. Benny chuckled at the youthful belligerence. He’s been there before, back in the day so he didn’t push too much. 

The drive was short. Soon enough, Dean opened the door and ushered Sammy into the other room. Sammy whined but did as he was told.

Sammy gave Benny a passing glare. He didn’t trust Benny at all. It was a gut feeling for him. There were older men interested in his brother before. Other Hunters and he felt like Benny was like them, and was going to take advantage of his brother. He didn’t like how Benny always smiled at Dean nor did he approve of all the touching that went on. Granted it was just a shoulder pat or a clap on the back. Even so, he made a point to scowl and glare. A silent, ‘I'm watching you….’ In any case, past experience made him suspicious. Dean was oblivious so Sammy felt he had to guard his brother too.

“Keep the door open?” Sammy turned his puppy eyes on Dean and Dean smiled down at him. He ruffled his brother’s hair, “Sure.”

“Alright, come over here where the lights good.” Benny motion toward the kitchen. Dean hesitated but hopped up on the table. He was clumsy but he took off his layers and began to peel back his duct-taped bandages. He hissed as his skin was already tender from the constant removal of tape and he knew he had a rash from all that irritation. 

Benny had left to go get his metal ammunition can that had his medic supplies. When he came back, he nearly dropped the metal box. 

“What the hell attacked you?” Because really, there was no other explanation for those claw marks 

“I don’t remember. It was dark. When I got attacked I booked it out of there.” Dean said. It was true. They were hunting a Rugaru but it was something else completely. He remembered his dad wrapping his coat around his waist and hoisting him up and jogging to their car. Once he was sure Dean wasn’t disemboweled he shot off to kill the monster. By all the gunshots going off, Dean hoped he got the bastard. He passed out and woke up with his dad doing a crude job stitching him up. He passed out again from the pain. 

“Lay back.” Benny said. Dean did so with a wince. He tried not to look at the kitchen lamp as it was blinding. He still felt a little blinded even under his eyelids.

“Fuck.” The word was drawn out. 

“I’m going to touch and press on yer belly. I need to check what’s going on.” Benny palpated the area and when Dean flinched he noted the area. There was one spot that had him worried. It was hot and raised. A fresh bruise overlaid one of the scarred claw marks. Benny mentioned he had a suspicion of what it could be. He told Dean he might have to lance the area. He had a small vial of lidocaine and gave a few shots in that spot. 

He picked up the scalpel and looked Dean in the eye. “Are ya ready, cher?” 

“Do it,” Dean said through clenched teeth. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel any pain. In fact he felt a release of pressure. Benny pinched and squished his skin and there was an audible pop. It looked like grape jelly at first, but this black goop was what popped out of the hole Benny made. The older man kept kneading until all the black clotted blood was released until bright red blood leaked out, but not by much. 

“I’m not going to stitch ya ‘cause it needs to drain. In the meantime I’m going to give you these Percocet and antibiotics. I really think you should take the next few days off from school and rest.” Benny peeled off his latex gloves and put fresh ones on. “And no more of this duct tape. You peeled yourself raw. A simple pad and wrapping your waist should be bettah” His cajun accent leaked more when he was tired. He helped Dean sit up before rummaging in his kit. He pulled out a moisture wicking medical pad and pressed it to the wound. He then pulled out a large elastic band, which he began wrapping around Dean’s waist. 

“Rememba, not too tight. Just e-nouf to hold it steady.” Benny said and demonstrated by tucking two fingers into the band which felt easy enough. 

“When is yah Daddy supposed to be home?” Benny asked.

Dean just shrugged. “Another day or so.” Which he lied. John was hunting a warlock… or was it a Banshee? Or was it a shapeshifter? Who the hell knows. The dude was gone in the wind. 

“I think I can forge a note, let them keep ya from going to school.” Benny muttered as he stroked over his beard.

“There’s no need. We’re not in school.” Sammy said from the doorway. Benny gave Dean a surprised look.

“Our Dad dropped the ball on the whole registration. Apparently at Brookshire Middle School and High School, you gotta have a parental there.” Sammy filled in.

“Our dad couldn’t get off work.” Dean tried to cover. He sent a sharp look at Sammy and Sammy huffed. He knew what that look meant. It meant, ‘Shut up idiot!’

“Yeah, he eats, sleeps and on to the next job. When he’s back, it's usually at night and leaves early in the morning.” Sammy said. He looked over at Dean with a quirk to his mouth. As if to say, “Happy now?”

Benny turned back to Dean, who shrugged “I thought I could wing it but we don’t know anyone. Our… uh, family friend… Jim said he might be able to help.”

“Jesus Christ… Why didn’t you say anything?” Benny asked.

“Didn’t know if I could trust you. Didn’t want you to call CPS on us. I’m going to be 18 soon. I figured I could hold out a little longer.” Dean was blunt.

“Oh for fuck’s sakes.” Benny took off his cap to wipe his forehead. He put it back on with determination. “What do ya need?”

Sammy and Dean gave him a rather creepy smile. Sammy rushed off to get him the forms and Dean handed him a pen. “Can you take us over at 8?” Sammy asked with stars in his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Benny had pulled up to the hotel, bright and early the next morning. He was sipping on a rather large cup of coffee, and he appeared a little groggy. He at least dressed up a bit with a dark blue button-up shirt and charcoal grey slacks. His tie was loosened a bit, but otherwise, he looked presentable with the thick wool jacket tying the outfit all together. Sam and Dean piled in. Benny was nice enough to get them breakfast at the local Micky D’s near Sam’s school.

Benny and Dean followed along behind as a secretary did a little tour of Sam’s Middle school. Hosting upwards of 700+ students, this place was massive. Dean thought it was cool they had a swimming pool but Sammy geeked out over the library and up to date computer lab. The principal barely batted an eye at the paperwork and sent it back to the secretaries to be inputted into the database. She was a nice lady. A bit strict looking but kind. Hands were shaken and Benny and Dean were out the door. 

If it were possible the High school was even bigger. Or at least the large track and football field gave that impression. Most of it was a two-story building and situated on a hill. So yeah, Dean felt a little intimidated to be rolling up on a place like this. 

“Welcome to Brookshire!” A fellow classmate that was part of the welcome committee said. The high pitch voice was a bit much. He gave her a timid wave, before looking back at Benny. He decided, at this moment, he was going to drop out. Hell, he could finish his grade online. Benny only smiled at his panic. He waved good-bye to Dean as the preppy girl practically grabbed his hand to pull him along. They rounded one corner and the preppy girl dropped the act. 

“Here.” She shoved a paper at his chest. “This map has the whole layout of this place. Don’t lose that.” She pointed to a spot on the paper. “Your locker should be around there. Good luck, dweeb.” She walked quite a bit away but turned back around. She had to use a louder voice, “Oh yeah, if you have questions, don’t ask me. Kay?” She gave him the peace sign as she left. 

Well fuck. 

He looked at the map and wandered the halls. It was a shitty layout with shitty labels. He barely knew where he was. At this point he already missed 1st-period Calculus. He figured he would find the exit and use the next bell to ditch this place. He was fucking tired. Didn’t Benny say he could skip a few days? Why couldn’t he just get enrolled and go home afterward? Ugh, this is not how he wanted things to go.

...

“What’s wrong, bitch? Ya gonna cry? Come’on and cry!” The words were faintly carried through the hall. It was followed by boys laughing.

So, yeah, maybe it wasn’t his business but a dash of curiosity and wanna-be hero lingered in his veins. He followed the voices.

Around the corner, he saw that there on the ground was a dude. He had a split lip and glaring at his attackers. They closed the upper locker on his hoodie, but it was too tight for him to slip out of. He was stuck and was using his messenger bag to defend himself. Three against one seemed hardly fair. Why not even the odds a little?

The biggest of the group yanked the bag from the bullied boy and dumped its content. “Where’s my money Faggot? Huh?” He kicked the guy when he didn’t see what he wanted. The dude on the ground winched but didn’t say anything. 

“There a problem here Fellas?” Dean asked. His voice loud and authoritative.

“Fuck off ya cunt.” A lackey it seemed, spoke up. Dude was pretty fugly. He never actually seen a dude with a pug face before, but this guy’s genetics were fucked up. 

“That’s not very nice.” Dean smiled and slowly walked forward. His steps were loud and firm. “Now I asked you a question, and it will be answered. Politely.” He came upon them and stared them all down. 

“Go fuck yourself, prick!” The biggest dipshit he ever saw spoke up. He looked at his cohorts with a grin, like he made the biggest comeback ever. His even dumber friends all laughed like they thought it was funny too. Dean wanted to roll his eyes. He turned his attention to the guy on the ground. 

“What’s your name? I’m Dean by the way,” Dean told him. 

“The fuck?” The big dude muttered. He looked at his minions, like, ‘Can you believe this shit?’ He didn’t appreciate being ignored.

But Dean kept his focus on the trapped dude.

“Castiel. Castiel Mikhailov.” He said with a hoarse voice. The hoodie was tight and looked really uncomfortable.

“Do you have a combo number for the locker or can I cut you free?” Dean asked, but by now the big asshole had enough. He went to grab ahold of Dean’s shirt but Dean, with his lightning-fast reflexes, he used the dude’s momentum and pulled him off balance. A flick of his wrist and had the guy on the ground, kneeling, with his arm twisted behind him. 

“Back off! I swear I won’t hesitate to break it!” Dean warned the other boys.

“Get this fucker off me!” The fat fuck yelled.

The other guys vacillated but then decided to attack.

It wasn’t much, but with this angle, he easily dislocated the leader’s arm. He didn’t want to but he needed to take out the threat. Two on one, not so bad, but three on one? Not with his injuries. 

He had just enough time to jump back and the two other clumsily started swinging. It was awkward and not very well executed. Dean dodges and ducked as he backed up. When he got an opening, he threw a real punch compared to their flailing. Two down, one more asshole to go. The other, less ugly dude got a bit too close, so Dean didn’t have a choice but to knee him in the stomach to gain some space. Dean regretted that decision as his own abs protested at the sudden movement. 

His own pain made him hesitate as the guy recovered quicker. The guy threw a punch and clipped Dean in the ear which stung like hell. The guy started grinning like he was actually going to win. What he didn’t realize was that all he did was piss off Dean. Dean grabbed his shirt and head-butted him. There was an audible crunch and the guy went down holding his bloody nose.

Dean was a little out of breath, “Now listen up you sons of bitches. You ain’t shit. If I so much as see any of you around, I’m going to fuck you up, again and again. So stay the hell away from me and him.” To which he pointed at Mikhailov. 

The guys groaned and didn’t protest when Dean started to check their pockets. He took their IDs and money. It was the same spiel that Sammy and him did just yesterday. I know who you are and I know where I can find you yada yada yada. God, this shit was getting old.

“What are you waiting for? Fuck off already,” Dean said. They moaned but did as they were told. Limping off to god knows where.

They made quite a ruckus, and that made Dean a little jumpy. He was going to get the kid out and bail. Surely someone heard and will come to investigate soon.

“...Like I said, you got the combo or slice and dice?” Dean knelt besides Castiel. 

“It’s not my locker,” Castiel said. Dean flipped out his switchblade and Castiel’s eyes got wide.

“Please, no! This is my favorite sweater!” Castiel waved him off. Dean gave him an, ‘are you serious look.’

Dean stood and examine the caught fabric. Maybe he could tug it out? He grabbed ahold and tugged with his foot braced on the locker. He yanked and pulled as hard as he could. It was in there good. At least he got Castiel an inch and a half. 

“I don’t know what to tell you man. Unless the kid that owns that locker comes back, you’re screwed. Maybe you can wiggle out? Leave a note?” Dean said as he scratched his head. And wiggle the boy did. By the time Castiel got free his already mussed hair was a static-y bird’s nest. 

Dean gave him a hand to stand up. Castiel dusted himself off and looked around for his things. 

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” Castiel stated. 

Now up to this point, Dean was smiling and feeling pretty damn proud of himself. “Er ... what?” It felt like his eyebrows shot up into his hair because that's how confused and shocked he was.

“Dude, I just saved your bacon. Maybe a little gratitude is in order.” He leaned against the locker with a scowl.

Castiel’s voice was softer and a little exhausted. “First of all, I never asked for your help. Secondly, you only made things worse for me. The hellhounds are going to retaliate and it’s going to be even worse now, thanks to you.”

Dean stood up straighter and crossed his arms. “Okay, first of all, I don’t need permission to do the right thing. And B.), Ew. Who the hell calls themselves the Hellhounds? Not only is that lame but cheesy as hell. Pfft.” Dean scratched at his chin. “Tell ya what, with $50 bucks a week, I can watch your back. I’ll make sure those douche canoes never bother ya.”

Castiel had finished putting his stuff back in his bag. There was a slight, unpleasant curl to his lips. “That’s extortion!” He said with disgust.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Fine! I can do it for $30. Final offer.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down at Castiel.

“No!” Castiel adjusted his bag over his shoulder. He shook his head as if in disbelief. “My god, you are even worse than Crowley’s goons. At least with them, I know they’re assholes. But you? You act like a savior but your not. Your just another kind of bully. But what really makes you worse than them, is that you prey on the weak and helpless all for your own greed.” 

Dean could feel a whole body flush. Whether it was anger or shame, he didn’t know and he didn’t like it. This was the first time anyone accused him of being the bad guy. He and Sammy have acted as bodyguards in the past, and everyone they helped was so thankful. This was the first time that someone claimed what he did was wrong. Was it wrong? I mean, they were putting their asses on the line. Was asking for a little compensation really a bad thing?

Before he could say or refute anything. Castiel got up in his face and said in a steely tone. “I would prefer it if you would leave me alone from now on.” And walked away.

Dean felt pretty shitty. Hurt and really confused. Obviously, the dude has a backbone, but why was he just taking shit from those guys. Having him say that he was worse than those tools, made his chest ache worse than his busted knuckles. 

Fuck it. He was going home.

Dean is stirring the beef stew when Sammy gets back. As soon as he’s in the door, his mouth is running a mile a minute. It’s a welcome sight to see him this animated. So much better than the angry brat pouting all the damn time. Sammy pulls out his homework and still, he keeps yapping about this or that and that he made some new friends. Dean just smiles at him.

He really wanted to go over to the mid-school and pick him up but Sammy was adamant that he can walk home by himself. It wasn’t even a mile away. Sammy had to resort to yelling that he wasn’t a baby anymore. It was one in the morning and he didn’t want to wake the whole hotel so... Dean relented. The kid was 12 after all. That didn’t stop him from stressing out though. He was stress-cooking and went a little overboard. Not only did he make stew but butter biscuits and Sammy’s lunch tomorrow. Last night was so spontaneous, all he could do was give Sammy a $5 this morning and hope it was enough. 

“How was your day?” Sammy asked as he finally took in his brother and the amount of food coming his way.

Dean shrugged as he brought over two bowls of steaming stew. Sammy grabbed a roll and was munching on it already. The kid looked cute with his stuffed cheeks and crumb covered face. 

“I got enrolled. Came back.”

“Uh-huh, and uh, what’s up with the bandages? Those are new.” Sammy said around a spoonful. He didn’t even mind that the food was hot. He was starving. He just kept shoveling in.

Dean snorted. “So okay, there’s this dude, right. Surrounded by punks. They trapped him, see. I’m not going to walk away if I can do something, yeah? That be a pretty shitty thing to do. So I come in, all Rambo-like and send these assholes on their way. Help him get loose, and you know what?” Dean pointed his spoon at his brother. “That asshole didn’t even thank me. In fact, he chewed me out!” 

“Wha?” Sammy said between bites. “Why?”

Dean shrugged and slumped over his bowl. Sammy nudges him with his foot to get him to elaborate.

“Ugh. Fine! He said I was worse than those dipshits because I offered him my protection. Said, it was “extortion” and some shit. Like I’m the fucking mob or something.” Dean looked like a kicked dog after saying that. Sammy felt really angry that some ungrateful ass put that look on his brother’s face. Dean does so much and doesn’t deserve to be treated this way. 

“What’s this fucker’s name?” Sammy said. Dean’s sour mood waned after his brother said that. A protective pipsqueak.

“Look at you getting all huffy.” Dean teased. “It’s cool, man. The dude made it clear he doesn’t want me around and I don’t plan to save his hide a second time. Even if he claims he’s going to get it worse.”

“Wait, hold up. Why would they? Usually these losers back off the first time.” Sammy frowns down at his empty bowl. He got up and dished out more. “Start at the beginning.” So Dean did. 

“Yeah, I heard about the Hellhounds. Some rich lady moved into town on dirty money. Her kid, Crowley, has been recruiting and trying to build up his own crew and they have been calling themselves that. They have been going around terrorizing everyone around here. And the Mikhailovs, there’s a lot of resentment there since his uncle been buying up property and gentrifying the place. Lots of people had to move because the price hike and people losing jobs over it too.” Sammy said around a mouthful of biscuit. 

“How the hell did you learn all that?” Dean said with raised eyebrows. Color him impressed. It was just one day...

“People talk. I just listen. Besides, everyone in Brookshire is a horrible gossiper. I didn’t even have to ask.” Sammy used his biscuit to wipe his bowl clean. “As for that Mikhailov guy. I think I can see why he reacted like that.”

“Oh?” Dean asked, genuinely curious.

“Yeah, I mean, from what I heard was that this is his first year alone. Up until this year, he had his cousins to back him up. He was really tight with them and didn’t bother getting friends. At least that’s what Katie said. Once they graduated, and out of the way, Crowley pounced. Something about being chummy with Mikhailov because of his money but Mikhailov ignored him. That’s when he turned on him. Tried different tactics to wear him down. So I wouldn’t take it personally. Maybe the guy sees everyone as an enemy.”

Dean leans back in his chair mulling it over. After a while, Dean propped his elbows on the table. “Level with me, bro. Do you think what I did is bad as he claims it is?”

“Yes and no. I mean, we do benefit from someone’s crappy circumstances, but remember Eddie? He was getting bullied so bad, he was going to kill himself. You came in like a rock star and your popularity transferred to him-”

Dean scoffed at that. He was good-looking-ish but was never popular.

“-We left him in a better place and with friends. I mean we hunt monsters but we don’t get paid. Maybe it all balances out in the end. Although...” Sammy chewed his lip and looked at his brother through his bangs. 

“I think you were just shitty with the timing and delivery. Maybe if you buttered him up a bit, got in his good graces first, then he would have been open to the idea.” Sammy suggested. 

“But that’s the thing, though. I laid out three dudes and he had the balls to step up to me and lecture me. I mean, he obviously has the stones, why the hell is he letting them get away with this shit? He has money and all the resources to make it stop.” 

Sammy didn’t know what else to say. Everyone’s situations are different and unique. Right now though, his brother was a little too wound up about it. Pensive, and frustrated. Way too invested in this to be honest. So Sammy stared at his brother. Normally something like this, Dean would bitch about it but move on. But Dean was really fixated. Why? 

Maybe...

“Oh my god, don’t tell me he had dark hair and blue eyes.” Sammy deadpanned. It was like Aaron and Jake all over again. Dean’s not so subtle crush over Batman and Superman and any other dude that slightly resembled them. 

Dean flushed so brightly his freckles popped out even more. “It ain’t like that!” He threw the dish towel at his grinning brother’s face to stop from seeing that look. He got up because it was his turn for the shower and he needed to get ready for work anyway, 

Sammy raised his voice so he could be heard from behind the door. “I dunno Dean, I wouldn’t give up on Mikhailov. I’m sure once you make nice, he’ll love having a knight in shining armor coming to his rescue!”

Dean opened the door a crack and flipped his brother the bird.


	4. chapter 4

That night at work, Dean planned to chew out Benny about ditching him. It came out more like a whine than anything. Benny just laughed and said. “Dean I waited in the parking lot for 20 minutes. After that, I had to go. If you had a phone, I could have texted you.“

“Oh…” Dean replied a little sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ve been planning to get one soon.” That was a lie. Every little thing he makes goes right into the food, bus fare, and just random shit like getting new towels that don’t smell moldy. Hell, toilet paper isn’t cheap!

Dean shoved his empty backpack into his employee locker because he needed to take his uniform home later and wash it. Luckily with the black slacks and black shirt, it made stains hard to see. However, it didn’t hide his musky teen B.O. at all and cologne can only mask so much. 

With rag and trolley, he went out and did his job. 

Even though it was a Tuesday, the place was packed. There were a lot of rough faces in this crowd. It was nice, he thought. The other waiters were too busy to give him too much shit. Although Harlow went out of his way to snap at him to clean a table, even though it really wasn't necessary (for one empty glass? Come on.) But he did it anyway. 

The party of 40 were all speaking in a different language. Slavic maybe? They sound like angry New Yorkers, to be honest. None of these men looked at the wait staff with lusty eyes. What were Hetero’s doing at Furio? He kept arguing with himself to mind his business, but that hunter training and his natural propensity to figure things out eventually won. 

A friendlier dude, who tried to engage him in conversation before, was a good starting point.

“How are you liking the place? I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of y’all around before. Some sort of Celebration?” Dean asked.

This dude was huge but had a babyface. His companions ventured off for the restroom or to the cigar bar.

“You could say that,” He said, before downing his pint. “Good day. Good for all. Our boss recently got a promotion.” He said through his thick accent. His cheeks were rosy with the drink. “Big celebration.”

“That’s great. Do you need anything else?” Dean motioned to his cart where, besides collecting dirty glasses (which went below, under the black curtain.) He had cigarettes, cigar, gum, mints, and (not so legal poppers.) Hell, in his cart, they had penis-shaped lollipops for shit and giggles.

The man was borderline drunk at this point. He pondered his choice and grabbed the cigs and mints. He tossed a $100 bill like it was nothing. Dean made a move to make the change, but the dude waved him off.

“Keep the change.” He mumbles. “But tell that fucking waiter to hurry. I’m dying of thirst here!”

Dean gave him his most charming smile, “You got it!”

He walked by Harlow, “Big guy over there wants you to hurry the fuck up. I’d do it soon if ya value your pretty face, cupcake.” He sing-songed as he passed.

Harlow didn’t look pleased. In fact, he looked frazzled. You could tell he wasn’t used to having his good looks overlooked and treated like a regular guy. Not to mention all the other waiters all had guarded faces like they were scared too. He almost felt bad.

Almost.

After talking to Fred (go figure?), talking to the other guys was easier. They joke around about cars, classic rock and argue over what supermodel was the hottest with Dean. On the flip side of the coin, they didn’t hide their hostility for the waitstaff and their queerness. Dean learned this was a last resort place to party. They didn’t explain why, so Dean assumed it was a shady business. To the untrained eye, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the number of firearms that were present. 

He should have been scared about the amount of firepower in his present company. Oddly enough, it brought up a feeling of camaraderie; like being around other Hunters. 

The mood all changed when there was a loud, piercing, glass shattering sound. All the men seemed on edge. It came from the VIP table. Dean inwardly sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to getting cut up, but it was his job to clean up the broken glass. He pushed his cart over. 

Dolan, another waiter, rushed towards and passed him, holding his cheek. He looked scared enough to piss his pants. The waiters usually fight over the VIP table because of the tips, but it looks like Dolan’s luck ran out. Even so, that little observation told Dean he needed to be careful.

He brought the cart over. Under the curtain on his trolley, he got out his brush and tiny dustpan. He began to clean up the shards quickly as he could. He snuck a few glances at the men seated there. They didn’t say anything like the man in the middle, an older man continued to drink. Unlike all the others here, he was the only one in a light grey suit. He may not know much about fashion, but everything in his attire screamed money. From the dark grey shirt to the blood-red tie. Even the cufflinks looked to have diamonds in them. He thought it safe to assume this was the big cheese.

“Is there anything I can get you, gentlemen?” Dean asked in a formal tone. 

The man eyed him critically. He drained his glass in a big swallow. He placed it down smartly, the ice clatter inside, tinkling like chimes. “I want another, but with more Gin.” He said in a cold, nasally voice. “Tell him to get it right this time.”

Dean smiled and gave a curt nod, “you got it, boss!”

He wasn’t done with his circuit around the room, but he didn’t want that man to wait. He beelines to the bar.

“Hey man, the boss dude in the suit wants more Gin in his next drink.” Dean knuckle-rapped on the wood counter. Benny just snorted but got on it. Dean pushed his cart into the backroom to load the dishwasher. He did a quick peek around the room before he checked his tips. He just made over $230 in two hours! Dean quickly folded his money nicely and put it in his hidden pocket on his pants leg. 

He restocked his condiment tray. The cigarettes, lighters, and pretzels sold out pretty quickly. He made sure he had enough this time around. After getting a new stack of glassware, he headed back to the bar to drop those off before making his rounds again.

These men, after enough drinks, began to relax. They didn’t get rowdy but the volume of conversation picked up. The ventilation system was working overtime with everyone smoking. They generally warmed to him when he told them he was straight and a struggling college student. They tipped him well when he said he couldn’t find any other place of employment that worked around his classes. He laid the story on thick. Telling them about trying so hard to keep a roof over his and his little brother’s head. Telling them about his Dad, gone, in the wind. Praying every night to his dead mom to continue to look out for them from heaven. 

His broken home story hit a lot of the other guys hard. Dean can recognize that even though these guys were older, there was something lost in their eyes. Maybe he’s a sick fuck for seeing, relating to it, and profiting off it. 

But he didn’t lie when he said he and his brother were on their own. 

Now at 16, Dean began to question his father. Especially since this last injury. That hero worship he had for his dad was waning and he was beginning to see the flawed, and broken man his dad was. As for him and Sam, they got older and began second-guessing their dad’s methods. His harsh treatment became worse. No longer did he fret about their safety and happiness, he began to treat them like they were his personal soldiers. If that man didn’t care about their happiness, Dean made it his mission to see that Sam ended up happy… 

As for him, he didn’t mind being a hunter. He knew the score about the supernatural. He wanted to fight and get rid of all the nasties creeping on the earth. So that no one else should have to lose a mother too. That lifestyle was for him. He was okay with that. As for Sammy, he couldn’t help but want his brother to escape. When he mentioned college, having a family, getting rich from being a badass lawyer, of course, Dean was on board for that. Sammy deserved so much more than this Hunter life. Dean didn’t sacrifice so much of his own life to see Sammy miserable as him. He was convinced his mom, Mary, would agree with him on this matter. Come hell or high water, he was going to get that kid out of this lifestyle. 

So yeah, in the long scheme of things, doing janitorial work and dealing with bitchy coworkers was worth it. Not only that, but he wasn’t going to feel sorry for telling tales and draining these guys’ pockets. 

Almost every table wanted to engage in conversation with him. He used his Winchester charm™. He did play it up with wide-eyed naivete. Acting so impressed and these guys ate up the attention. He felt bad about the men making rude remarks about the waiters and he would have felt more inclined to defend them if they weren’t jackasses to him, to begin with. 

He laughed and teased some and told jokes to others. Pulling them into a joyous raucous, but stayed calculating of his environment. Ever vigilant and cautious. Like a puppet master, he swayed his audience with flattery and praise. 

As much as he was beginning to question his Father’s tactics, his dad’s training shines through and Dean was ever aware that he was being watched. Throughout the night, he couldn’t shake the feeling Bossman watching his every move. He resisted the urge to constantly look over his shoulder. 

_ “Dean, remember, Men in power like that, use staring as a confrontation. Don’t buckle or squirm. Ignore it or act dumb. After a while, they’ll get tired of waiting and call you to them. When you meet, say nothing and don’t give anything away. Let them talk because they will. A man’s ego is their Achilles heel. Remember, don’t agree or disagree. Now, what do we do?” _

_ “Shut the fuck up.” _

_ “And?” _

_ “And gather information?” _

_ “Yes, that too but what else?” _

Dean’s brain goes static after that memory flickers. It switched to Dad being handcuffed and put in a patrolman's car. He and Sam were standing outside a Utah hotel in the sweltering summer heat. He was ten when he watched his dad being pulled away roughly. A social worker was coaxing them to follow her. Dean wracked his brain to remember what his answer was, but it was lost to time. 

After the memory came and passed, he was both reassured and pissed he still heavily relied on his father’s teaching. The Madman that he was, John fucking Winchester, was a force to be reckoned with. Even if he couldn’t remember all of it, he let his dad’s voice calm his nerves. For fucks sakes, he killed monsters and ghosts. He can handle a creepy old man. 

Dean came up to Benny when there was a lull. “I’m going to take my break.” Benny nodded. He went over to Maverick- the other bartender- and told him he was going on a break as well. 

Dean’s feet hurt from all that walking around. He needed to get shoes that actually fit. These thrift store dress shoes looked nice but they were too narrow for his growing feet. After getting his dinner from his locker, he sat down to lukewarm stew and biscuits. 

Benny joined him with his food from the Ragin Cajun food truck. Rice, sausage and he wasn’t sure what the other thing was but it smelled delicious. Suddenly his stew didn’t seem all that great anymore. Benny caught him staring. He laughed.

“Wanna trade little brother?”

‘Oh hell yeah. That looks amazing.”

“Glad you think so. I love cooking, but you can only eat so much of your food before you crave other things. Mmm...This beef is tender. Good job.” He said around a spoonful. 

“Low and slow.” Dean murmured around a mouthful. Once done, he asked “So what’s up with that gang out there. Anything I need to be aware of? Should do or shouldn’t?”

Benny finished his stew slowly. Perhaps giving himself time to formulate an answer. “I haven’t seen these guys before. I only saw Alistair once or twice in the Boss’ office. Creepy fucker, that one. You stay away from him.” Benny wiped his mouth. He frowned down at the table. “That man, he has his hands in a lot of stuff, and he uses his modeling agency to lure people. We had one dude, Samson, a little Filipino boy working here. Just the sweetest kid. He got signed onto one of Alistair’s agencies. He did make it big, but a year later, they found his body. Mutilated. His mom came in here looking for answers. It seems like she found out that whatever city Alistair ends up at, the body count rises for pretty boys.”

“Yeesh. And no one’s been able to pin anything on him?” Dean asked.

“He’s a slippery rich bastard. He’s got plenty of ties to the entertainment industry. He co-owns Affliction studio. Ya heard of it?”

Dean’s answer was his red cheeks and squirming. It was because, yeah, who hasn’t heard of that crazy BDSM website. It had a bunch of hard-core kinks. Their main seller was the murder/rape videos. Out of curiosity, Dean watched one. He never felt so sick and horrified. That girl’s screams sounded so real and she sounded like she was truly terrified. It bothered him for a long time.

“Shit. Why the hell is he here?” Dean asked.

“I try not to ask or go snooping. And neither should you. The Boss’ business is his business.”

“Got it.” Dean said absentmindedly, but before they gather up their stuff, “Hey, Benny?”

“Yeah?”

“About earlier, Thanks for everything. I owe ya.”

Benny snort-laughed, “Sure, kid.”

“No, I mean it. I don’t like owing people. Tell ya what, how about I make you my famous shepherds pie as a way of thanks?” Dean asked. With his limited abilities, cooking was his outlet, and the only thing he felt talented in. 

Benny chuckled and patted Dean’s shoulder. “That sounds great and all, but I rather have those chunky chocolate chip cookies. Ya do that and we’re even.”

“You got it broski.”

That just made the older man laugh.

They went back to work. Dean did his rounds, and slowly the patrons began to filter out one by one. Most of them, giving him a rough half-hug or a clap on the back. All Joking aside, and not surprisingly, those ‘supposed’ straight dudes slipped their numbers on napkins into his work apron- with whispered “call me.”

Eventually, the tranquility of the place began to return. The air was clearer for sure. On one of his rounds, the man in the grey suit signals him closer. He took a deep breath.  _ ‘Here we go!’  _ Dean tried not to let his nervousness show. 

“Did you need something, Sir?” He tried to go for polite and respectful. 

“What’s your name kid?” The man with the nasal voice said. He raised his chin in his appraisal of him. The glass was filled with amber liquid this time around, swirled leisurely in his left hand.

“Mike.” The name rolled off his tongue easily because of course the gay men here are always flirting and trying to get his name and number.

The man leaned forward and offered his hand to shake. “I’m Alistair McCreed, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I overheard you’re in college. What’s your major?” He leaned back, his glass tumbler in his hand in his left hand. On closer inspection, it did look like whiskey instead of the mint gin the man was drinking earlier. 

Dean had his answer ready because he’s been asked this before and already had his BS story perfected, so he answered with a smile, “Oh, I’m still taking my basic courses, but I’m hoping to do either Engineering or go into Business accounting.” 

“Working and going to school must be  _ so hard _ .” Alistair gave him a sly grin. “I admire hard workers.”

Dean shrugged, “It’s not too bad.” But he straightened up, “Is there something you need sir?” He motioned to his trolley and it’s goods. It was important to remind customers that he’s working and not here to chitchat. 

“How do you feel about modeling?” Alistair reached into his inner pocket on his blazer and flicked out a business card. It was black with a creepy metallic red lettering. Dean looked at it and put it in his apron.

“Uh…” Dean said. “To be honest, I never gave it any thought. No one’s asked me before…” He gave a weak half-grin at that.

“Well, I’m asking you  _ now _ ,” McCreed said seriously and had a rather pissed-off expression to boot. 

Dean chewed his lip but stopped and realized what he was doing. “Well... with my schedule, I don’t think I can take on anymore... gigs… at the moment.”

“Quit. Work for me.” Alistair declared, but there was steeliness in his eyes that unnerved Dean. It reminded him too much of his father. 

“I like it here, and I couldn’t put Balthazar through all that after he went out on a limb to give me this job.” Dean nervously exclaimed. It was the look in Alistair’s eyes that freaked him out. Alistair had icy blue eyes, but they lack… something human. They were dead and… clammy. Like you could feel his gaze slipping over you like a dead soggy fish. For all Dean’s charm and bravado, it was waning under that man’s predatory gaze and he was feeling very much like a scared 16-year-old. A guppy facing off against a shark came to mind. 

**_“Focus!”_ ** _ His dad’s voice snapped. _

Dean realized the man was talking again.

“Those that I sign personally to my agency get a $1000 sign-on bonus and could make upwards of $2,500 per day if they are motivated enough. Why bother with school, when you can make a modeling career now?” The man leaned forward, and because of the lamp placement up above, gave the man’s gaunt facial features stark contrast and convinced Dean that this might be a demon. “Money, fame, and fortune. Only a fool would say no to that!”

“Thank you for the offer,” Dean said softly. “I need to think about it.”

Dean expected for the man to argue, but the man shrugged like this was a normal response. So this was a predator willing to wait. “ **Dangerous”,** He heard in his father’s voice.

“Don’t wait too long. I have very little patience. Time is more important to me than money. Do you understand?” Alistair tried to smile and be a bit more reassuring, but that smile made a shiver run down his spine. God, this dude was fucking creepy without even trying!

“I understand, sir.” Dean turned and tried not to run away. He pushes his cart quicker than normal. He didn’t even see Harlow standing in the shadows with the finished drinks on his tray, eavesdropping on the conversation. Hell, he was so perturbed, he didn’t even hear the huffing Harlow’s nostrils flaring with rage made. Once Harlow was sure Dean was out of earshot, he paced and cursed under his breath in the dark. He barely managed to drop off the drinks without spilling anything. After that and with anger fueling him, he marches to the lounge.

He slammed the lounge door open. Xander and Dolan took notice.

“Bitch what got yer titties in a twist?” Xander asked as he counted his tips. Dolan still had an ice pack pressed to his cheek where a handprint was still visible. Josh was also at that table, but he was busy with his phone. 

“It’s that stupid bitch!” Harlow seethe. “That conniving cunt is so underhanded! I was gunning for Alistair all night and that fucking twink stole my chance!” Dolan sort of shrank into his seat because he was also trying to get in good with Alistair too and his failure throbbed painfully just like his cheek. 

Josh put down his phone, with pursed lips and raised eyebrows. This tea had his attention peaked. “What do you mean doll?” Josh asked. 

“McCreed offered Mike a modeling job that was meant for me!” The other man wailed. “Do you know how hard I’ve been working every other shift hoping for that pasty ass bastard to show up again?!” 

All three men at the table agreed with harmonizing, “mmm-hmmm.”

“And do you know what that twinky little shit did?” He asked his audience. “He said, _‘I’ll think about it!’_ _Oh_. _My_. _God_! That bitch has some nerve. I bet he’s counting on trying to up-sale his Kansas ass.” Harlow bitterly declared. “But you know what, I know that little shit is hiding something, If he thinks he can get in the way of my dreams, he has another thing coming!” He marched out of the room and his clique followed to see what he would do. He snatched a hairpin out of Xander’s hair who squawked at the sudden move. He held a hand to his chest, aghast and dramatic but Harlow ignored it. He uses the hairpin to unlock Dean’s work locker. 

There was nothing in there except his leftover containers and his backpack. In an angry, self-righteous frenzy, Harlow began to rummage through the bag, pulling out this and that. Before stopping, “I got it! That little shit, I have you now!”

“What is it?” Dolan asked, his ice pack forgotten.

With a dramatic flair, Harlow whipped around and held up a piece of paper. “Looks like little Mikey is Dean Winchester, high school Junior!” 

There were three loud gasps.

“Maybe that’s his little brother’s school schedule?” Josh said.

Harlow used the paper to thwack the blonde guy. Pretty but not so bright. “Why would ‘Mike’” Harlow finger quotes sarcastically, “Have his brother’s school schedule. And look at the date, It’s today!”

The men all gathered around and “Ohhhhh!” around it. 

“I have you now you little brat!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not very good at tagging. Suggestions are appreciated!


End file.
